Make do and Mend

Dear Charlie

I’m so glad that the dry spring weather has arrived at last.

Three or four weeks ago, during all that rain, I went shopping in the local market. Despite the weather the stalls were crowded with people and most of us had our umbrellas up.

Imagine my dismay when I got home and found a human eyeball firmly embedded on the tip of one of the ribs of my brolly. My first instinct was to put an advert in the local paper so that the owner could come and claim it. But my hubby, a Do It Yourself enthusiast said, “No,” he had a better idea.

He then painted it with clear waterproof varnish and Super-glued it onto the Neighbourhood Watch warning at the bottom of our close where it looks fantastic.

He’s so clever. I do love him.

Mandy

Wolverhampton

The Best of British…

Our parliamentarians have been kind enough to give you a 3 year demonstration of their lack of wisdom, lack of intelligence, lack of honesty and contempt for democracy. Are you really going to vote for any solitary one of them of any party who is currently sitting in the House of Fools? If you do, you deserve them and I wish you the Best of British – for the little while they will allow “British” to exist.

No permission needed…

With or without parliament’s assent, Boris should call a Snap Election – and fuck ‘em all.

Forward the Brexiteers

Give me Liberty

or

Give me Death

(Patrick Henry)

Empires

Empires

Triremes of Claudius go speeding out of Gaul,
charged with taming Albion, enigmatic queen,
then civilise and modernise
with unity and roads,
to leave a lasting legacy where Rome has been.

Bold privateers of Devon, harnessing the wind.
Buccaneers with cutlasses plunder Spanish pelf
then bequeath the world a language,
democracy and law,
bonding scattered people in a vast Commonwealth.

Bureaucrats of Brussels, inept scions of Rome,
with bloated pay and pension cosseting a life
of bumbledom and jargon
in quangos that cascade
unedifying orders, sowing seeds of strife.

Nincompoops or Bureaucrats…?

On the whole Brexiteers are logical thinkers led by nincompoops who couldn’t negotiate their way out of a one man tent.

Remainers are the opposite. Their leaders are  hard-headed logical thinkers who see the EU as a place where they can enhance Their political and business careers no matter what the cost is to their Gullible Followers, the country, and generations to come who will be tied into a totally undemocratic hide-bound empire that will finally disappear up its own bureaucratic backside.

Helpful hint

Just had another thought. If we could persuade Muslims to eat bacon butties and belly pork they would be a lot happier and might stop all this Jihadi nonsense.

Ah–British Humour…

Two enterprising lads in Saltash have opened a cafe selling Mexican food. They’ve called the cafe Foreign Muck. Now the angry brigade are on parade screaming, “racist!” and “call the police!” More proof that we are now a joyless puritanical society and anyone who tries to snap us out of it is doomed.

Oh Mr Woo…

Oh Mr Woo…

Funny thing really, the Hong Kong Chinese are risking their lives to cling on to democracy…

The Brits, who have gained so much from it, now think its time to renounce it.

Stray Thoughts

             

Brussels – Wind and Piss

***

Stray Thoughts

May and Hammond sling their hooks – good. Can we now rebuild the navy and defence forces?

Re Carbon Fooprints

Have Green MEPs refused to join the carbon footprint caused by moving the Euro-mob to Strasbourg and back every month?

On Climate Change...

During a period of global warming around 2000 years ago, the Romans expanded their empire to the north of Europe.

During a period of global warming around 1000 years later, the Vikings explored the Arctic seas, discovered America and established farms in Greenland.

Now, another 1000 years on, during a further period of global warming, a crowd of CND look-alikes want to close our country down.

***

Patience My Little Eco Warrior...

Climate Change started 5 billion years ago. It is forecast to end in a further 5 billion.

Patience my little Eco Warrior - patience

***

Old Juncker... (To the tune Widecombe Fair)

Old Juncker, Old Juncker, lend me your deaf ear,
we’re a big market with fish in our sea,
can trade with the wide world without you my dear
wi’ no Blairites or Bercows, Nicky Morgans,
Vince Cables, Heseltineys, Anna Soubrys,
disdainful Ken Clarks - sod ‘em all,
disdainful Ken Clarks - sod ‘em all.

When will the penny drop?

If the Italians and Chinese made spaghetti and noodle strings a couple of feet shorter they would be a bloody sight easier to handle.

Jonny on Sunday

Jonny on Sunday

“I hate Sunday.

There’s nothing on Sunday, unless you’ve got money. And they’ve stopped my spends.

I woke early this morning and set up the drums all round my bed. They’re not really drums, just boxes and tins, and Granny’s old jar that rings when you hit it.

I must practice, you see. I’m starting this group when I leave school... Heavy Metal... or something like that.

I was drumming real good when Granny burst in. “Stop it!” she yelled. “Stop all that noise!”

I hate my Granny. She’s always complaining about me and my noise. I’ll be glad when she’s moved to that old-folks’ home that Dad shouts about when she’s gone off to bed.

She knocked the jar off the stool when she opened the door. It fell on the floor and smashed into bits. She burst into tears and fell on her knees to pick up the pieces. She’s a big baby sometimes.

Then she rabbited on about crystals and things. But there were no crystals there – just a broken old jar.

She shouted for Mam and kept blaming me. But it wasn’t my fault. She broke it herself when she opened the door.

I tried to explain but she only got worse. So I grabbed for my clothes and ran down the stairs.

I got my football and went out for some training. I use the old shed because it makes a good noise. The harder you kick, the louder the bang. You can spot all your best shots. I might turn professional when I leave school.

Dad charged from the house in his vest and pyjamas. “I’ll kill you,” he yelled. “Yer all flamin’ noise.”

He’s ugly, my Dad. He looks worse in the mornings. Mam says it’s the beer. His hair hangs down over his face and his eyes are all red. He’d look like a monster if he had any teeth.

He tried to hit me and missed. His hand caught the wall and started to bleed, so he danced up and down, howling and cursing.

I was glad. I hate my Dad. He shouts too much and spoils all my fun.

Then next door’s barred cat jumped over the wall into their garden. It looks like a tiger. So I climbed over myself and started to stalk it, on my hands and knees through all the flowerbeds. I might be a trapper when I leave school.

When it went in the coal shed I set up an ambush. I hid in the sheets on the whirly bird clothesline with a handful of mud. Then, when it came out, I let fly – splat! Right on its head.

Then fat Mrs Bailey came waggling out, shrieking and skipping and flapping her arms like a panicky old hen trying to fly.

“Oh, my sheets!” she screeched. “Oh, my flowers! Oh, my cat!”

I kept saying, “Shush, you’ll bring out my Mam.” But she just wouldn’t listen.

Mam came out then and they both got me cornered. They dragged me into the house and kicked me up the stairs. Mam clouted my head and yelled, “Get in that bath!” She knows that’s the worst thing that can happen to me.

I hate my Mam. She sides with others and keeps on about bathing and washing and things.

I ran the water and splashed it around so they would think I was in it. I got this tray that they use for the soap, and set it afloat. It made a good boat. I stood a plastic bottle on top of the tray and it was just like a mast. Then I got my sister’s clean knickers from over the towel rail and rigged them up as a sail.

I like sailing boats. I might be a sailor when I leave school.

Then my sister came in, bleating as usual, about the wet on the floor. She ran to my boat and snatched off its sail and shouted and thumped me and called me bad names.

I hate my sister. She’s always like that. She stands for hours in front of the mirror, squeezing her zits. That’s why she can’t get a boy with a motorbike – because she’s got zits. She reckons Roger’s a boyfriend. But he hasn’t got a motorbike, only a car.

I gave her a kick, hard, on the shin. She shouted for help and screamed when it bled.

Dad and Granny ran out of their bedrooms. They all tried to punch me, Granny and Dad and my sister. But I gave them the slip and dashed down the stairs.

Mam went to grab me, but I pushed her aside and ran out of the door.

I ran to the woods. I like the woods. There’s a swamp with water and mud and all that kind of thing. Billy was there, making a damn.

Billy’s dead lucky. He gets loads of money. That’s so he’ll be good when his Mam and Dad go down to the pub. And he gets pounds from his brother, so he won’t grass about the pills and cannabis and that.

I helped him with the damn. It’s good practice really. I’ll build a big damn when I leave school, then let the water run out and drown all our family. After that I’ll move into Billy’s and get lots of money.

I slipped and fell in. I was wet through and cold and covered in mud. So I ran home and sneaked in through the back door and crept upstairs to the bedroom to change.

That’s where I am now.

Mam’s running upstairs. She’s screaming again, about the mud in the kitchen and over the stairs. The rest of the family are running up with her, Dad and Granny and spotty daft sister.

I hate Sunday.

Discrimination (Letter from a Reader)...

Dear PoaH

They’re at it again, attacking cigarettes. They’ve already banned them in most places. It just isn’t fair.
Our Fred smoked 90 a day for 15 years and they never did him any harm. He was killed by a bus while having a coughing fit in the middle of High Street. Nobody has said we should ban buses.

Disgusted
Warming on Sea

Hairy question...

It says here that men often grow beards to hide the warts on their face. My neighbour has a beard. I wonder if she has warts?

The ABC Murders...

Two further points for Poirot to investigate.

1) Why did his train from London to Doncaster end up on a Settle to Carlisle viaduct?

2) Did Agatha Christie really think that Brits spat on Belgians in the street – or is that just BBC Think?

Free Speech...

If Corbyn thinks May’s a stupid woman he’s entitled to say so. After all the Europeans think she’s a stupid woman, why else would they offer her a backstop that no-one in their right mind could accept? The fact that she accepted it proves that all the rest are right.

If 317 conservative MPs can’t…

If 317 conservative MPs can’t control one hallucinating woman, how do they expect a couple of cops to handle a mob of weekend drunks?

Will the ultimate illusionist produce another bunny?

Every time you think May has run out rabbits, out pops another one...

Les Mis...

I thought it was a trailer for Les Misérables but it was today in Paris on the BBC News. What a miserable empire that EU is. Avoid! Avoid! Av...